Only a Fool
by V Tsuion
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be the genius, he knew everything about anything from a single glance. But he had been so busy being clever, that he had not seen Professor Moriarty's Swiss Messenger for what it really was; a last chance to get Watson out of harm's way before the final confrontation. But it was too late now, Dr. John Watson was dead, never to return.


**I've been working on a another, much longer, Sherlock Holmes fic that I hope to post in the near future, but in the meantime, this popped into my head, so here it is.**

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The boy caught up with us upon the treacherous path. Without even a glance in his direction, I knew who sent him. It was too convenient, that they needed _Dr. Watson_ now. Not to mention that the letter was a sure forgery.

Only a fool would fall for it, I had thought with scorn and derision. Now, too late, I knew that only a fool would not.

Watson had hesitated and looked to me - he didn't want to leave me there, on the falls alone. And I did not want him to. So selfish I was! Or perhaps, not selfish enough.

"There is no Englishwoman." I said simply, as if it were nothing.

The fool I was! The utter fool! "Nothing," only the death of a wonderful man, the only one I dared call friend!

And so I sealed his fate, sentenced him to die, his body buried in the Fall of Reichenbach. I should have died in his stead! But I did not. The man who least deserves it, I stand here alive, because a man who should not have died sacrificed himself so I could live.

This cursed life! I had never called it "fair" or "just" but I had tried to make it so - as much as one man could! What irony that it was for me that the world had turned unjust, for me that all I held true and dear turned on its head, all so I could live.

I would have been mourned by no one. Watson perhaps, my brother, Mycroft, but no one more, my solitary life had seen to that. But Watson had a life as any man. His wife, what must she be thinking- feeling! I had spared little thought to the feelings of women, they had always been incomprehensible to me, largely because I felt no need to understand them, so long as I could solve the cases they brought to me. But now, I found myself wondering if Mrs. Watson - of all women - and I felt the same under these most horrendous circumstances.

It was I who had knocked upon her door to tell her what had happened. Lestrade had offered to go, pity in his eyes, but I had insisted. It was only fair - the absurdity of my vain persistence - that I who had taken so much away from her come to confess what I had done.

The lady of the house answered eagerly, but her face fell as soon as she saw me. Her eyes met mine and I could tell it was all she could do not to cry.

"Come in." she said, her voice cracking.

I followed her into the sitting room I had so recently entered and left through the window. Why had I been thinking- What had compelled me to drag Watson into this mad chase of mine, to put his life on the line when I knew it would be dangerous! I had wanted him there with me in what I knew to be my last days, how had I not suspected for an instant he would die as well? Did I want him to die by my side - was I so heartless, so cruel?

Mrs. Watson was watching me, weary from the effort it took to maintain her composure. It was only fair that I at least try to do the same.

"I am sorry." I said, the words came out before I could stop them, my voice cracked - it appeared she was not the only one holding back tears - "I am to blame, it was I who stole him from the safety of his home and took him with me to continent to face Professor Moriarty by my side and it is he who paid the price of my recklessness. If I were you I would not forgive me. I risked his life time and time again, and now he is gone and I am to blame for it. He died fighting in my stead in a fight I should not dragged him into to begin with. I should be dead now. Instead it is your husband who perished at the falls. I am so sorry!" I stopped suddenly, cutting off the flood.

She bit back tears and blinked furiously, obviously unable to trust herself to speak.

There was a long silence as we both sit there, composing ourselves.

"John-" she began haltingly, "He i- was a good man, the best I ever knew… I should have known it was too good to last." she gave a sad, twitchy smile.

I nodded, unable to speak.

She swallowed and continued, "We- I-" there was a pause as she gathered her thoughts. "He wouldn't have wanted to die any other way, you know…" she croaked out.

"He should not have died!" I could not stop myself from nearly shouting it.

"No, he shouldn't have," she grimaced, "But he loved you, and he would not want to be as you are now."

I wanted to lash out, to deny anything that said Watson should be anything but alive in my stead, but it hit me in the heart and I understood it better than I had ever understood anything else. To be the one left alive - especially like this, with such a burden of guilt - was a living hell. I would not have endured it for the world. But still, that did not excuse me! Watson should have been alive at that moment - he should still be alive! And he would be, if not for me.

I hung my head and forced myself to stand.

"I am sorry for your loss." I said, it was time we both be left alone to deal with our grief in peace.

"And I am sorry for yours." she said.

She stood and showed me out. I had never realized how gracious Mrs. Watson was.

But I had little time to revel in it. I would stay for the funeral and then it was time I finish the job. Watson's death would not be in vain! I would bring down everything Professor Moriarty had created, tare down his empire, burn it to the ground and salt the fields. It was not merely justice and the good of all that I was after - my spirit was fueled by the fires of revenge.

Mycroft watched me with a wary eye. He cautioned me to temper my anger, to not let it get the best of me and instead be ruled by my mind. And I listened as well as I could. But still, it lay behind every action I took, every decision I made. Every one of Moriarty's men that I brought down was in the late Dr. John H. Watson's name.

It could not undo my foolish mistake, it could not repair the damage I had so unwittingly done, but I would wreak my vengeance, that was sure.


End file.
